


Southsun

by KarkaHatchlings



Series: Guild Wars 2 Interstitial [1]
Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game), Guild Wars Series (Video Games)
Genre: Adventure, Conversations, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Reminiscing, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-04 23:26:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14031156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KarkaHatchlings/pseuds/KarkaHatchlings
Summary: A human and an asura visit Southsun Cove for orichalcum.





	Southsun

Gusting rain beat a renewed tattoo on the treated canvas of the tent before pattering in splashes on the sand around it, unable to find purchase and soak. Charter looked from the pot he was stirring, then frowned back down at the simmering soup. Grabbing the pot by its handle he quickly shifted it onto the plank floor and damped the fireless heating crystal it had been cooking on.

The man wrung scorched fingers with a muttered curse and rose to cross the small tent. Sweeping the door open, he peered out into the weather. The evening air, further chilled by the storm, curled in past him as he strained to see anything through the curtains of water. Pleek should be back soon, Point Pride wasn't far.

A few more moments of vague concern kept him staring into the impenetrable rainfall, where only the dimly-visible shapes of weathered volcanic rock that dotted the shoreline could be seen. The wrecked ships cast upon them by storm, mischance, or karka, far more transient than the stone that broke them, were hidden completely.

Another second, and he’d have turned away, but the appearance of a hunched, diminutive shape zig-zagging along the broken beach gave him pause. A taller person might have headed toward the shelter of the tent directly, especially given the downpour, but the rough terrain was more of a challenge for the asura. Still, she was making good time, hopping nimbly on short, thick legs over wave-carved troughs, almost bouncing to avoid the rain-swollen tidepools. Watching for karka that might be following, Charter fingered the pistol on his belt, relaxing only as she neared the tent.

Charter stood aside for the asura’s hurried entrance, one arm stretched over her head to hold the flap open. Rocking to a halt, she glared up at him with narrowed eyes, her armor dripping rivulets onto the planks beneath her feet. “Don’t say it,” she warned, "it didn't look like rain when I left."

“Still should’ve worn your bucket, Pleek,” the human chuckled anyway, nodding at the small helm perched rather uselessly on one of the crates that served as the tent’s furniture, “or let me head to the Consortium dock.”

“And have to eat my own cooking?” snorted the asura, a careless toss of the sodden package she was carrying landing it next to her helmet, “not likely.” With more care, she laid aside her sword, propping it up against one of the posts. Claw-tipped fingers grasped her thick, messy crop of braids and squeezed, adding to the miniature deluge down her back. Her pert nose twitched and she sniffed sharply, measuring the close air inside the tent.

“Yam soup again?”

Charter had the grace to look sheepish, rubbing his close-cropped hair. “It’s all that was in the vaults. One of the reasons we were making this run out here in the first place.” Letting the flap drop, he picked up the pot, gingerly this time, and gave it a stir to break up the congealing surface.

“Some idea that was.” With an air of contrariness, Pleek flipped the tail of the door up again and took her own turn at gazing morosely out at the rain-shrouded island.

“Guess this is it for Southsun,” the asura said quietly, letting the flap drape over one narrow shoulder and folding her arms tight.

Behind her, the human paused in ladling out two bowls of soup, his stubbled face downcast. “Aye,” he muttered, then spoke up more firmly, “if the vein at the karka hive is played out, it’s probably not worth the trip.” An almost imperceptible note of question lifted the end of the statement.

“It’s not,” snapped Pleek decisively, whirling back to glare at Charter. The torn, blue-dyed skirt of her armored cuirass rattled discordantly at the movement before she grabbed it and held it up for his inspection. “See? It’s bad enough we were both almost killed up there; the repairs ate almost everything we got from selling the orihalcum.”

“Thank you,” replied Charter quietly, presenting a bowl of soup to her, looking at the floor, the pot, anything but her. They’d both had a close scrape, yes, but she’d taken the worst of it, helping him up when the massive karka had pounced on him at the orihalcum vein.

Pleek took the bowl, oversize to her, in both hands and glanced back at the swinging tent flap. Turned away, her face softened: she wouldn’t have gotten out after that herself, if he hadn’t been there. “Uh, thank you.”

“Anyway, the materials are in the bag, along with what’s left of the silver we made,” she hurriedly changed the subject.

“Let’s have it, then,” helping himself to a spoonful of the warm soup first, Charter set aside his own bowl and held out a hand for the damaged armor. Pleek stepped behind the crate for privacy, pulling off the leggings and skirt with an embarrassed glare at the human. Wisely, he’d looked away.

Still standing behind the makeshift screen, she picked up her bowl from where she’d set it, claws rattling softly on the scratched tin surface. Leaning on her elbows, she absently tasted the soup, watching Charter as he got to work.

“We had a good run of it, though,” he unfolded the rain-soaked package, rooting around inside until he found the few coins loose at the bottom. Divvying them, he pocketed his share, the money vanishing into his drab coat, and placed Pleek’s cut on the crate in front of her. The asura pushed the meager stack to the side with her spoon in disinterest. “Remember coming ashore with the Lionguard? You couldn’t throw a rock without hitting an angry karka.”

Again, the asura snorted. A shake of her long ears showed her unwillingness to be mollified just yet. “And we hit a lot of them that day. What a mess. We barely made a handful of silver each then, too.”

“That came later,” pulling out the stamped pieces of metal stock, Charter laid them out with his toolkit on the plank floor, seated cross-legged with the damaged armor in his lap. Taking a small pair of pliers, he began wrenching the bent and sheared rivets out of the skirt’s rent plate. “Diving the wrecks for what was left in the holds, Lionguard bounties on karka and reef drakes, selling some of the first fruit from Southsun to Gnashblade.”

Listening to the man reminisce as he worked brought a small, reluctant smile to Pleek’s face. It had been an adventure, both of them wide-eyed and excited at the sight of the untouched island. At this distance, even the annoyances, of which Pleek usually found plenty, were amusing: Charter cursing and slapping away insects that were confounded by her own tougher, spotted hide, or the human valiantly trying not to laugh at her slogging waist deep through crystal-clear spring water that only came up to his knees. Involuntarily, she brushed fingers against her chest, a reassuring habit. She still had the first passion flower they’d found, now preserved in a flat scale of crystal, tucked away under her breastplate there.

“And selling all that orihalcum, after we’d sneaked into the hive ahead of the Lionguard assault,” Charter finally looked up from his work to grin at her, his hands pausing as they used a disposable sigil to work the metal stock into new plates of the right shape.

“That didn’t work out so good either,” her negation was belied by the sharp teeth her own grin was showing. It’d been merry hell, actually, karka everywhere, mercenaries fighting and screaming while a lucky few were able to slip up to the top of the hive to chisel the precious metal out of the vein there. Charter and herself had been part of that select group and even they hadn’t gotten away with their haul unscathed.

Memory resisted retelling, the pair falling silent in reverie. Low voices were replaced by the quiet slurp of soup and the tapping of rivets being hammered through plate into leather backing. Distant thunder returned Pleek to the present from a sunnier time. She’d been staring at the human, Charter staring back at or maybe through her into his own fond recollections of the island. The grin lingering around the corners of his mouth turned bittersweet and he quickly busied himself at the repairs that had otherwise barely needed his attention. The asura cast her own large eyes down at the dregs of soup in her bowl.

“The place has been pretty lucky for us,” she finally allowed, surreptitiously peering up to see the hint of a smile return to his face.

“We had a good run of it,” Charter repeated, setting aside the spent sigil and his tools. With a flourish, he shook out the repaired armored skirt. Bright new plates clashed with the weathered ones on either side, but it was whole again. 

“Finally,” groused the asura, her impatience lacking any venom. In her rush to have the armor back, she rounded the sheltering crate, hands outstretched, unconcerned about her bare legs. This time with more of a smile, her partner proffered the skirt, only looking at her when she’d belted it back on. Turning this way and that with a jangle of plates, Pleek considered the repairs. “It will do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in /gw2g/.
> 
> Events referenced here correspond to in-game events: the original opening of Southsun Cove and the later change of the rich orichalcum node to a standard orichalcum node.


End file.
